


Now My Heart Stumbles

by mattressesflollop



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Body Image, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Vessel Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:36:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattressesflollop/pseuds/mattressesflollop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jimmy Novak's vessel is destroyed, Castiel takes a new one quickly, in order to return to his partners. What Castiel doesn't expect is for Dean and Sam to suddenly distance themselves from him, casting him both guilty and lustful glances. What Dean and Sam hadn't expected was for Castiel's new vessel to look like their father's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Now My Heart Stumbles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this](http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/57666.html?thread=16040770) beautiful, fantastic, and glorious prompt at spnkink_meme. _Cas's vessel is destroyed and he has to get a new one as fast as he can to get back to Sam and Dean (who are crushed, thinking he's not coming back). He finds a willing host, a man in his mid forties, and gets back to Sam and Dean for a happy reunion. There's just one problem, Cas can't shake the feeling something strange is going on. The boys look at his differently, and they haven't kissed or had sex since he got back. Cas decides they must not find his new vessel attractive and begins to wonder if they really fell for him or for Jimmy Novak's body. Cas becomes very quiet and insecure, not sure what to do and if they even want him anymore. What he doesn't know is the real reason that Sam and Dean feel weird around him: his new vessel looks a lot like their dad did._
> 
> This is AU from mid-season 5, with implications of Gabriel being helpful and an all-round badass. I also wanted some closure for the Novak family, so that's gratuitously written in.  
> Oh, and just for the record, I think that John Winchester/JDM is one attractive sonuvagun (i.e. the vessel isn't as unattractive as Castiel is led to believe).

Castiel _liked_ being an angel. That, in itself, was not angelic; angels didn't _like_ being anything in particular, they just were. Once, Castiel had been an angel, a soldier of the Lord, a creation of his Father's. 

Now, though, Castiel _liked_ being an angel, just as he enjoyed watching grass grow, listening to children playing, and tasting Dean and Sam's warring examples of 'good food.' In the events after Gabriel's intervention and the end to the End of Days, Castiel learned to make peace with the middle ground between having human emotions and angelic grace. He became fond of the Impala's rumble down the open roads, as Dean indulged his country-boy twang and Sam stuck his head out of the window to get away from Dean's singing. Castiel became frustrated during the nights that they traveled between hunts, when one of the brothers would pull Castiel onto his lap, legs spread wide along the Impala's backseat. Sam or Dean -- mostly Sam, because Dean liked to watch through the rear view mirror -- would slowly, teasingly work Castiel open, muffling Castiel's whines with each press of his hard mouth, lips firmly sealing over Castiel's while his tongue mimicked the motions of fingers that he had twisting in and out of Castiel. 

If it was a night with Dean in the driver's seat, Castiel would hear, over the spit-slick slide of his mouth with Sam's, Dean's hoarse orders to _fuck his mouth with that gorgeous tongue of yours, Sammy, look at how his hole is sucking you in, what a greedy little angel you are, Cas._ And then Sam's fingers would drag along Castiel's prostate, catching at his rim, and Castiel would keen, biting hard down on Sam's shoulder. Sam would nudge his legs open even further, angling Castiel's ass up for Dean to see, as he reached down to slick his cock with their precome. Dean's eyes would flit from the road to the mirror as Castiel turned around on Sam's lap, hips and slick cock jutting forward as Sam lowered Castiel onto his cock. When Castiel felt Sam bury deep, balls nestling against his ass, Castiel would lean back against Sam, his mouth turned to nip at Sam's ear while his gaze remained fixed on Dean's reflection. 

_Sam,_ Dean would growl, and Sam's grip would tighten on Castiel's hips, as he set the push-pull rhythm of slamming into Castiel, while Dean watched, torn between the road and the sight of his little brother plunging his cock into his spread-open angel. 

Sometimes, if Castiel was very lucky, Dean would ease the Impala onto a shoulder off of the road, as urgently as it was possible to still keep them safe. Then, he would turn around in his seat, and finally, finally, wrap his hand around Castiel's flushed and weeping cock, pulling at it and whispering how _filthy and sexy and goddamn perfect_ Castiel and Sam were.

\-- 

Castiel would look at Sam and Dean, and see their souls pulse with a brilliant intensity that the angel didn't yet have a name for. 

Not until a quiet night, on an inconspicuous stretch of America's interstate. 

Dean had parked off of the side of the road, and he climbed out of the Impala with a happy groan as he worked out the kinks in his shoulders and neck. Sam, on the other hand, practically tumbled out of the passenger's seat, and grinned widely as he stretched upwards to see the stars. 

The three of them had settled onto the hood of the car, Dean sprawled lazily in the middle. One of his arms was flung out to play with hem of Castiel's jacket, the other acting as a pillow for Sam, as the other Winchester settled down along the length of Dean's body. They spent their rest stop competing to see which constellations they could identify, Castiel having the final say by sheer dint that he just knew more than the brothers. 

After Sam had pulled ahead by a significant margin -- a lot of clusters looked like Cepheus, and Sam had, by process of elimination, figured out the right one -- Dean decided to start tracing lewd images in the stars. 

Castiel sat serenely as he listened to the brothers bicker, content to let the patent Winchester conversation play out, until Dean reached his arm up to prod at Castiel's back. 

"Cas loves it, don't you?" Dean waggled his eyebrows and Sam rolled his eyes, and the synchronicity of the actions and the swelling affection Castiel felt at that abruptly slammed into him. 

Love. Castiel's fingers twitched hard against the Impala, his breath catching. He could feel his grace roiling within him with turmoil, more intense and yet comfortable than he had felt before. 

"Cas? Something wrong?" Sam reached over to place a warm hand over Castiel's. 

"Nothing," Castiel replied, his grace jumping again when he saw the concern on both Sam and Dean's faces. 

"I love you," he stated. 

It was almost comical, the way that Dean and Sam's eyes both widened. Yet, as Sam ducked his head, Castiel felt his hand squeeze tighter -- reassuringly -- around his. Dean's eyes flickered away for a moment, before fixing back on Castiel. He reached over to pull Castiel closer, pressing their foreheads together, before managing a shaky "yeah." 

\-- 

Castiel reveled in the sensation of loving and being loved. He traded more touches and laughs with Sam and Dean, and approached each hunt with all of his strength and acuity. As Castiel had learned, though, much of life is made up of unexpected moments. 

Case in point: their latest hunt had turned into a gruesome turf war between local witches and demons, both embittered groups being downright gleeful to put aside their differences and destroy the Winchesters and Castiel. 

Dean and Sam had chosen a warehouse on the edge of town to lure the demons and witches to, and, working with Castiel, had carefully prepared every possible trap, spell, and sigil. What they hadn't expected, however, were the witches being possessed by demons who were summoning more demons into the fray. 

Their black forms swirled around the hunters, and separated them from each other. Castiel slashed and chanted the exorcism more frantically, but the demon swarm was thickest around him, and they crowded closer, pouring into his vessel and slashing at both his body and his grace. Castiel heard, distantly, Dean's yell and Sam's cry of "Dean," and he struggled harder in desperation. 

He was trapped and they would die, if he stayed in this position. Closing his eyes, Castiel sent a rapid prayer to his brothers, to keep Dean and Sam safe, before he ripped himself out of Jimmy Novak's body. His departing grace seared through the shroud of demons, and Castiel hoped that he had been able to buy the Winchesters some time. 

Castiel focused on casting his senses out, frantically trying to find an inhabitable host. Only Jimmy and Claire were left of his bloodline, and off-limits, which left Castiel with the only option of taking a vessel whose soul matched Castiel's current state of emotions. The sudden burst of a match jolted Castiel, and he quickly winged his way down to a small office in Seattle, WA. 

His vessel was stretched out on a worn, patchwork couch, napping. It was a relief for Castiel to brush along his mind, and easily slip into his dreams. 

The vessel's dream self startled as Castiel appeared. "Who are you?" He crossed his arms over his slightly rounded stomach, wrinkles appearing on his forehead as his scowl disappeared into his scruffy, grey-and-white beard. 

Castiel barely glanced over his physical features, instead studying his vessel's soul. It simmered with a fierce devotion for his family and faith in his role in life. The soul reacted warily to Castiel's presence, but as long as he remained careful to repair his vessel as needed, Castiel decided, this man would do. 

"I am an angel of the Lord," Castiel said.

\--

Ears still ringing, Sam pushed off of the ground and stumbled towards the last place he had seen Castiel nearly buried underneath all of the demons. There were no demons to worry about now, though, having been burnt away by Castiel's true form. Ashes and sulfur streaked the ground, complemented by the red sprays of blood. Sam could feel the bile rising in his throat as he wondered if some of the blood was Castiel's. Sam felt Dean grip his arm to keep steady, as they ran to the spot where a large mound of ashes were heaped. Even from a distance, Sam could tell that it wasn't enough to cover a human body. 

Yet Sam and Dean still dropped to their knees, hands plunged in the ashes to search for Castiel. The ash flew up from their frantic motions, mirroring Sam's internal chants of _please, please, please_. His hands pushed away all of the ash in front of him, sliding on a slick surface. Blood. Sam flinched to see his bloody palms, and he heard Dean hiss sharply. His brother was holding strips cloth that were tattered, burnt, and an achingly familiar blue-grey color. It was familiar because it had been from Dean's jacket, before he had given it to Castiel to wear. The first time that Sam had seen Castiel wear it, he had wanted to push the angel the nearest horizontal or vertical surface, and take him. 

Now, Sam just wanted to throw up. 

They had hoped that Castiel had somehow escaped -- what else could explain the pure, white light that incinerated all of the demons and witches? Even as he walked past the mismatched body parts scattered around the warehouse, Sam prayed, only slightly guilty, that they belonged to the witches and possessed people. There was no denying the ring they found, though, with _Amelia and James Novak_ etched inside. Despite his wardrobe changes, Castiel had always taken great care to keep Jimmy's ring with him, safely tucked into one of his pockets. 

One of the small, human ticks that Castiel had developed was to fiddle with the ring on occasions. During lulls in their conversations, or when Dean was engrossed in a Dr. Sexy, MD episode, Castiel would pull the ring out and rotate it along his fingers. Sam sometimes wondered what Castiel would do if he gave him a ring. Maybe the angel would keep it along with Jimmy's and Sam would know every time that he heard the rings jingle, as they bumped each other in Castiel's pocket. 

Sam threw up in a pile of ash and sulfur, and felt absolutely no vindication. 

\--

After a sweep through the town for any remaining demons or witches, followed by a few hours loitering around the warehouse waiting for Castiel to show up -- in some way, any way -- the brothers returned to the motel. Tired and drained, Sam found himself knocking into Dean, as his brother froze in the doorway. Sam's heart jumped, and he looked around Dean, expecting to see Castiel. 

Except Castiel wasn't there. In fact, the room looked the same way that it had been when they had left for the hunt hours ago. The newspaper clippings were still pinned above the small table, Castiel and Sam's neatly arranged in columns, while the ones that Dean had pulled down were pinned back up with small rips and slightly crooked. Their duffel bags were still arranged at the foot of the beds, and oh-- 

The beds that Castiel and Dean had pushed together, as they had always done after the three of them had settled together. Castiel had slept in the middle, in part because he didn't need sleep and could keep still when he meditated, so the beds wouldn't be pushed apart. Sam also liked how warm Castiel's temperature ran, and Dean joked about saving money on heating by having their own hot water bottle. 

"Should I--?" Sam pushed Dean gently into the room, forcing him to sit on one of the beds. He didn't want to move the beds apart, didn't want to have to sleep on his own on this night in particular. 

Dean sighed, a heavy, exhausted sigh that just made Sam want to curl under the covers and pretend that nothing was wrong. "Leave 'em," Dean replied. 

They still ended up squeezing onto one twin bed, Sam shifting closer to Dean, as his brother slung an arm around his waist.

\--

Castiel understood now why Lucifer and Michael had been so intent on possessing Sam and Dean as their vessels. Even as Castiel had seen the tears in Nick's body, he had not been able to comprehend the sheer effort Lucifer had expended to keep his vessel knit together. At least, not until now. 

Entering Jimmy had been a foreign, yet welcoming, sensation, like sliding into small, condensed area of Heaven. In contrast, Castiel could feel his grace raging against the new vessel, unable to settle because the bones were too thick, the muscles too striated, the skin too weathered, and the blood that was so very, very wrong. The vessel's eyes had shut involuntarily from the pain, yet Castiel could still see the bright light of his grace splitting through the skin of his vessel. He struggled to force himself inside, trying to heal the splintered bones, torn muscles, and ripped skin as quickly as his grace wrought the damage. 

Castiel spared a brief thought of admiration for Lucifer, who had been able to endure Nick for those many months. Unlike his brother, though, Castiel would gain no additional power from demon blood -- and just like his brother, Castiel knew that his grace would try to reject any other vessel not of his bloodline in the same way. He tried again to condense his grace within the body, and felt it pulse out of the vessel's fingertips, incinerating the skin and nails. Castiel felt no pain from the physical damage, but he did feel a prickling sensation and panic that he would burn through this vessel as he did Jimmy's. 

There was no other option, then; after quickly casting his grace out to search for Dean and Sam, puncturing his lungs in the process, Castiel was relieved to sense that the brothers were unhurt, and that no demonic presence lingered around them. After all, Castiel wouldn't be able to help them for the next few days. With one final pull inwards of his tumultuous grace, Castiel sank into a deep meditation. 

\--

He woke three days later, his grace burning hot underneath his vessel's skin, but settled. The effort of keeping his grace contained, however, siphoned off his strength. Even flying after Dean and Sam's trail made Castiel weak, and he found himself stopping every few cities to rest and redistribute his grace. 

He appeared in front of the Winchesters in Lefor, North Dakota. Well, he appeared in front of Sam, right in the path of the snarling ghoul. The figure barreled into Castiel, and Castiel reacted immediately, using the ghoul's momentum to push it off-balance, before he reached for its head and channeled his grace to twist it off. Castiel saw, from the corner of his eye, Dean cleanly decapitate the remaining ghoul. 

This left just Sam, Dean, and Castiel standing in the middle of the church basement, headless bodies littering the floor around them. Castiel's anger at the brothers' near-suicidal hunt grew as he counted the number of ghouls that Dean and Sam had fought alone. 

"Dean, Sam," he snapped, turning to glare at the two hunters. "Why did you take this hunt without proper preparation?" 

Both brothers gaped at him, Sam's eyes widening, and Dean's snapping down to look at the ground. It was an oddly deferential gesture, one that Castiel realized that Dean had never directed towards him before. 

"We did do our research," Sam defended, shifting to cross his arms and stare back at Castiel. He looked surprised, as if just registering the words that had just said. "Wait, who the hell are you?"

Although the hunter made no move towards him, Castiel noticed through narrowed eyes that Dean's grip had in fact tightened around his machete. 

"I am Castiel. When we faced those demons, my vessel was all but destroyed. I had to find a new one." Castiel stared at Dean, willing the other to recognize him. 

Dean shifted, uncomfortable, under the scrutiny that was all-too familiar. Castiel's intensity was impossible to copy, he thought, but there was an even older, ingrained response that he had to brown, weary eyes. Although Dean was still wary of the man or possibly angel before him, there was an unnatural stillness to the way that the body was standing that reminded Dean of when he first met Castiel. 

"Dean," Sam said, moving closer to his brother. "It's Cas, I really think." 

"Cas?" 

Castiel tilted his head slightly, and Dean swallowed. "Cas, Jesus --"

"Do not blaspheme, Dean," Castiel reprimanded in a tone that suggested a weary fondness after having repeated himself too many times. 

A moment later, he was pulled into a crushing hug from Dean, the back of his vessel's army jacket clenched tightly in Dean's fists. "Don't ever disappear like that again," Dean commanded in a muffled voice, as he pressed his face into Castiel's shoulder. 

Castiel reached up to rest his hand on Dean's head, trying to comfort the other. Instead, Dean stiffened slightly and straightened up, leaving inches of space between them. Dean's smile was strained, and even with his diminished grace, Castiel could sense his confusion. Or perhaps the confusion was Castiel's own, because Dean was acting strangely, and Sam had yet to step forward. 

"It's, um, it's good to see you, Cas," Sam said, his smile an echo of Dean's. When Castiel opened one arm out, to invite Sam into their shared space, the younger Winchester's gaze skittered off to the side. "We should get out of here."

\--

Keeping his vessel stitched together was tiring for Castiel. Each morning, he was sure to slip into the bathroom before either Winchester was awake, and he would spend agonizing minutes repairing the torn flesh from the night before. He had expected Dean or Sam to complain about his long sessions in the bathroom, as they often ribbed each other, but both of them just shifted slightly and moved out of his way when he exited the bathroom. 

They did that a lot these days. 

Although he would have preferred to leave some of the surface damaged as Lucifer had done with Nick, Castiel did not want to worry Sam and Dean about his difficulties with his vessel. The brothers already treated him differently enough; the last thing that Castiel wanted was for them to look at him as if he would explode at any moment. 

They sometimes treated him as if he would, though. In the past, Castiel remembered, Dean would roll his eyes, or grin, or hook his arm around Castiel's shoulders when the angel became irritated. Now, Castiel's moods seemed to set the brothers on edge. When they spoke about hunts, Dean would instinctively hunch his shoulders and defer more often to Castiel's suggestions. 

Sam, in contrast, had begun to push back against Castiel's opinions, both regarding cases and their everyday life. In the past three weeks since Castiel's return, the angel had become unerringly familiar with the sound of slamming doors of the Impala and the motel rooms, as Sam stormed out after his latest bout with Castiel. It didn't help that Castiel was just as stubborn, and many a conversation had ended with Sam absent, and Dean staring guiltily off to one corner. 

The easy banter between the brothers, that had settled after the averted apocalypse, had also become strained. Castiel grew increasingly concerned when he noticed that the smooth flow between the brothers -- of touches, gestures, and sparse but meaningful words -- was no longer there. Instead, it had reverted back to the stilted form that Castiel remembered had existed, before the three of them had become the Sam-and-Dean-and-Cas that the angel now thought of them as. Before the night that Castiel had coaxed a blindfolded Dean to wait in his and Castiel's usual room, and convinced Sam to take the first press of his lips against Dean's.

The memory was enough to make Castiel smile, although the fondness that he felt was soon replaced by the stinging pain of his vessel's bottom lip splitting. He relaxed his face, thumb swiping across his lips and restoring the flesh to fullness. It was more enjoyable to touch this vessel's lips, which were smoother than Jimmy's chapped ones had been. That had been one of many differences between his vessels that Castiel had cataloged. 

He had told Dean as much, expecting either a leer and suggestive comment from the hunter to put the lips to use, or a pointed look about the importance of using chapstick. What had actually happened, though, was a brief flash of lust from Dean and Sam, before being quickly replaced by guilty and slightly nauseated expressions. 

Castiel was aware that his vessel was physically older and woven with wrinkles, folds of skin, and grey hair, and he understood that Dean and Sam would compare those drastic features to Jimmy's. What Castiel hadn't expected, and what made the ache within him swell, were the averted looks and aborted touches that Dean and Sam gave him. 

Didn't they understand that underneath this vessel was the same Castiel that had inhabited Jimmy? That Castiel could still massage the aches in Sam's neck and torso after a long day's drive in the passenger seat, just as he could maintain a poker face as Dean played footsie with him, before they both excused themselves for the bathroom. 

Castiel had faith in the brothers, however. He was certain that, with enough time, they would adjust to his new appearance, and the three of them could once again settle into the comfort that still had so much potential.

\-- 

Two weeks later, Castiel stared at himself in the mirror for an entirely different reason. His vessel's eyes -- and Castiel refused to think of them as his eyes, because his eyes were Jimmy's blue, the blue that Dean liked staring into, not the muddy brown that he didn't want to look at for longer than ten seconds -- his vessel's eyes roved over his dark hair that was streaked with grey, and obviously too coarse to touch. Why else would Sam have spent entire evenings on the couch, his head pillowed on Jimmy's, yet shirk away from Castiel's offers now. 

He then looked at his vessel's face critically, noting each wrinkle and the prominent stubble. Castiel had initially regarded this vessel as a rugged sort of handsome; the crows feet at the corners of his vessel's eyes made the eyes seem friendlier, and his smile was wide, bright, and mischievously youthful.

But it wasn't as good as Jimmy's, Castiel chastised himself, because Jimmy didn't have all those lines that creased and aged his face, and his thinner lips were better because those were the lips that Dean and Sam always competed to kiss more of in one day. 

Castiel's gaze continued down his vessel's body, noticing each flaw in the sun-weathered skin (Dean had loved spreading Castiel out on dark sheets, his pale skin contrasting perfectly), the roughened nipples (Sam's foreplay often focused on how sensitive Castiel's buds were), the rounded stomach and thick frame (Jimmy hadn't been very muscular, but Dean liked running his hands over Castiel's wiry frame, and manhandling Castiel into his favorite positions). 

That was why everything about this vessel was wrong, and would always be wrong, Castiel thought. He didn't care for the physicality of his vessel, but he wanted what Dean and Sam wanted. The only thing that Jimmy and his current vessel had in common was Castiel, but the brothers preferred Jimmy's body, and seemed barely able to tolerate this one. By that reasoning, then, Castiel thought, both furious and devastated, Dean and Sam didn't want Castiel. He was the common denominator, and maybe the Winchesters had wanted him when he was Castiel-in-Jimmy, but now that he was Castiel-in-Alan, they couldn't even pretend to want to touch him as anything more than a casual acquaintance. 

Castiel felt sick and trapped, and he was. He would not leave this vessel; this one had been as close a match as he could find without taking Claire Novak, and Castiel refused to take an attractive vessel, knowing that he would only burn through it quickly and continue doing so with each new one that he took.

Just as he would not be responsible for a long line of broken vessels, Castiel would not abandon Dean and Sam. He still loved the brothers. All he could do was help the Winchesters, and hope that they would eventually be comfortable enough to treat him as a friend. 

\-- 

A few days later, however, Castiel was too pained to hope for much of anything. 

The strain of maintaining his vessel had increased, and the more that Castiel tried to dampen his grace and sink into his vessel, the more he could physically feel his vessel struggling to reject him. It had finally become too much one morning, when Castiel had stood in front of the bathroom mirror, having resorted to actually pinching the skin above his sternum together as he willed it to knit together. The skin had no sooner sealed together that Castiel suddenly felt a wave of pain that sent him stumbling to the ground, as his head smacked against the sink. 

Castiel's grace raged inside its confines, pounding Castiel's being with the sense of wrongness that it had felt being inside this vessel for weeks. The spiritual pain from his grace flooded Castiel's senses, dragging at him mentally. His consciousness pierced through the turmoil in random bursts, catching brief moments as he heard Dean yelling for Sam to get bandages, Sam's strangled "God, Dean, his _head_ ," and Dean's gruff litany of _CasCasCas_. 

Castiel's body continued twisting in pain, mirroring his grace's internal conflict, as Dean and Sam set him onto one of the beds. Castiel thought bitterly of how pitiful he must seem, his vessel flushed red and sweating, as it shivered and spasmed.

One particularly harsh punch of his grace had left him gasping as his body jackknifed from its position lying on the bed, to curling on one side as his arms pulled his knees to press against his chest. Castiel opened his eyes, to see Dean staring in terror at him. 

"Dean," Castiel gasped out, as he struggled to reach one arm out for the man. 

Dean paled even further, and Castiel felt his own eyes water in sympathy at the sight of the tears building in Dean's. 

"Dean," he tried again. Then, "Sam." 

Dean choked out a sob, looking like a man whose belief had just been shattered. "I-I can't," he rasped out, turning away from Castiel and all but running out of the motel room. 

Castiel's plaintive cry for Dean was drowned out by Sam's own shout, as he ran after his brother. He stopped before he left the room, his expression determined as he stared Castiel down. "We'll be back," he promised Castiel. 

A faint trace of doubt crept upon Castiel, and he nearly sobbed from the guilt and pain that wrenched at him. Castiel closed his eyes, forcing himself into meditation to contain his grace as best he could. He doubted that it would work again, but he would, as always, try for Sam and Dean. 

Castiel was deeply unconscious by the time that Sam had soothed Dean, hugging him fiercely as his older brother pressed his face against his neck, pushing down sobs as he confessed that "Sammy, it's like looking at Cas and Dad and knowing that I can't fucking save _either_ of them." 

\--

The first thing that Castiel felt when he awoke was the absence of any sort of sensation. There was no pain, and no trace of the self-loathing and misery that had weighed Castiel in the past weeks. He reached for his grace, afraid to find it missing as well. Instead, he felt it coil around him, gentle and calming as it had been in Jimmy's body. There was also something foreign, yet equally as reassuring. 

"By all that is holy, Castiel, you did have me worried." 

Castiel sat up quickly, breathing out "Balthazar" even before he had turned to face the other angel. 

Balthazar's customary lazy smile was dampened by the tension in his shoulders. "You're a fool," he stated. "You're lucky I heard your grace screaming in its last death throes. What were you thinking, staying in that vessel?" 

Castiel shrugged, his own thoughts jumbled and dominated by the natural beat of _Sam and Dean Sam and Dean Sam and Dean_. 

"I see," Balthazar sighed. "You're a stubborn fool. You and those Winchester monkeys really do deserve each other." 

"Where are they?" Castiel glanced at the door, and was surprised to notice that the room was different than he remembered. 

"A few doors over," Balthazar replied. "There's something we need to talk about first." He pointed at Castiel. "Namely, your vessel." 

Castiel looked down, conscious of his vessel for the first time. He was still in the older man. "How?" 

"I'm not happy with it," Balthazar groused. "It's like slapping a bandaid on a bomb, and quite frankly I'm insulted to have to compare my grace to it." 

That explained the unfamiliar, yet welcome, thrum of another's grace with his, Castiel thought. 

"It's only temporary," Balthazar continued, as he gestured to the other bed. " _This_ is what I'm here for." 

Lying on the bed was Jimmy Novak. Not Jimmy, Castiel corrected, as he swept his grace over the body. Jimmy Novak's body. Whether restored or recrafted, Castiel wasn't sure. 

"How?" 

"Gabriel helped," Balthazar shrugged. When a bowl of hard candy materialized and began to pelt Balthazar, the angel yelped and quickly amended: "he did it all!

I am but the lowly -- yet quite debonair -- assistant. I needed you awake for the transfer," Balthazar said, waving impatiently at the body. "Now come on, hop to it." 

He looked equal parts shocked and annoyed, then, when Castiel replied: "No." 

"Why the ever-loving not?" 

"No," Castiel repeated. "Return Jimmy's soul to his body instead. He deserves to be able to see his family again." 

"And you don't want to see yours?" 

Castiel briefly shut his eyes, tamping down at the swell of emotion from Balthazar's implication. "Sam and Dean will never see past my vessel, and I falsely thought that they would. If they can derive no pleasure in my form, I may as well return to my true form. It is not ideal, but I can still assist in some of their hunts." 

"It would make you less of a tangible target," Balthazar mused. "But that's not what you want, Cassy. And I've just spent the past few months seeing first-hand how Gabriel's hedonistic wants can make an angel very, very happy." 

Castiel shrugged. "You have said what a 'stubborn fool' I am, Balthazar. I won't be changing my decision." 

Balthazar sighed, wearily. "Very well, then. One major miracle, coming right up." 

\--

"What will you do now?" Jimmy asked Castiel, standing with his arms wrapped around Amelia and Claire. Claire was taller, a lithe yet strong teenager with her head resting against her father's shoulder. Amelia had turned her head into Jimmy's neck, holding a soft kiss against the spot that reminded Castiel of Sam's habit of nosing against that area as well. 

"I will return to Heaven," Castiel struggled to bring his thoughts back to focus. 

"And Sam and Dean?" 

Castiel didn't quite know how to respond to the man who knew him the most after the Winchesters. 

"Ames," Jimmy said, seemingly to relish the sound of the names and being able to say them. "Claire-bear. Would you two give us a few moments?" 

Claire slipped her hand out of Jimmy's first, and moved to stand closer to Castiel as Amelia shared a few brief kisses with her husband. Castiel stared down at Claire's serious face for a few moment, knowing she was trying to form her thoughts into words. 

"You shouldn't leave them," she blurted out. "You love Dean. I felt it, back... Then." 

Castiel nodded slightly, as Jimmy gently directed Claire to join her mother in the house. 

"They love you too," Jimmy said quietly, once the door had closed. "Whenever I was awake, I could tell by the way they looked at you." 

"At you," Castiel said, and Jimmy frowned at him. "It was your body." 

Jimmy now looked terrified. "What? No, no, I'm sure there was no 'I'm only lusting after you body' sort of thing, Cas!

I mean," he smiled nervously, "humans can be kind of shallow, but physical attraction only gets us so far, you know? You guys stuck by each other through everything, and I seriously mean _everything_. It's deeper than that. You know that, Cas." 

"Then why did they stop with this vessel?" Castiel asked. 

Jimmy ran a hand through his hair, trying to organize his next words. "When I was twenty-six, I decided to grow a beard. Like, full-on, tough-guy beard. I thought it looked great, but Amelia wouldn't kiss me. She told me flat out that I either shave my beard, or go without kissing. So," Jimmy shrugged, "I shaved my beard."

At Castiel's look of confusion, Jimmy continued: "it was important to consider what she wanted compared to what I did, and to see which was more valuable to me. Beard?" Jimmy rolled his eyes and laughed. "Or family." 

Jimmy paused for a moment, before moving in to hug Castiel. "I know how bad Sam and Dean can be with words, but try asking them what they want. I'm sure it's not me, but also not someone who looks old enough to be their dad." 

Their dad. Castiel's eyes widened, and he tightened his grip on Jimmy. "Bless you, James Novak." 

He left Jimmy, content that the man's family and faith was restored.

\-- 

Castiel was surprised to be tackled into a fierce hug when he next saw Sam and Dean. He had been waiting in their motel room, mouth opened to begin talking, when Dean preempted his words and launched himself on Castiel. Sam followed, and the three of them ended up on the bed, as Dean pinned Castiel under him. 

"Cas," he breathed out, leaning down to press a chaste but firm kiss to Castiel's forehead. He kept his lips against Castiel's skin, as he breathed out, "we missed you." 

The tenderness of Dean's words, and of Sam's reassuring hand pressed against his waist, made Castiel sigh softly. The tension in his body for their upcoming conversation eased slightly. 

"I missed you as well," he replied, before pushing at Dean's shoulders, so that he could sit up. "I came here to apologize." 

"Cas," Sam started, looking embarrassed. He glanced quickly at Dean, who had moved off of Castiel to sit next to his brother. "You don't have anything to apologize for. Balthazar told us everything." By told, Sam meant that Balthazar had all but razed the entire building to the ground in his fury, as he yelled at the Winchesters for the pain that Castiel had suffered. But Castiel didn't need to know that. 

"I do need to apologize," Castiel said in reproach. "I am sorry for not realizing how similar this vessel is to your father's." 

"No, Cas. There's no reason you would have noticed. I mean, crap, you're an angel; it probably takes you three times the effort to remember to notice what someone looks like." Dean held Castiel's stare intently, and Castiel could practically hear Dean's internal manta that _this is Cas, not Dad, not some dude who looks like Dad, this is Cas_. 

"That is correct," Castiel continued, leaning closer to Sam and Dean. "I am an angel of the Lord. And in the past weeks, you have made me judge an innocent man for unimportant physical flaws, and doubt my own worth, and made me question whether I chose the wrong people to love." 

Dean and Sam's gazes dropped. "I'm _sorry_ , Cas," Dean choked out. "It was crap for us to treat you like that, and not tell you why." 

"We understand," Sam said, subdued, "if you're going to leave us. Just, please, know that I'm really sorry." He clenched his hands in the bedsheets, throat working furiously. Castiel turned to look at Dean, who glanced at him through a sheen of tears, before he cleared his throat and looked away. Dean's breathing hitched, however, when Castiel reached out to grasp both of their hands. 

"I will never leave you," Castiel whispered fiercely. "I love you, and Jimmy taught me that I need to try to communicate with you both better." Castiel felt himself smirk slightly. "After all, I know well how you Winchesters are at communicating."

Castiel waited for Sam to huff a laugh, before he rubbed his thumbs over their hands comfortingly. "I spoke to Gabriel, and he has agreed to make me a new vessel. I came here to ask how you two would like me to look."

Sam and Dean stared, wide-eyed at Castiel. "Cas..." 

"Gender is irrelevant," Castiel continued. "Perhaps I could be a busty Asian beauty. Curvier as well." 

"No, Cas," Dean groaned, moving to grab Castiel's shoulder. "It's your vessel--"

"--I want what you want," Castiel interrupted. "I don't care about what I look like, and now we have an opportunity for you to choose." 

"Cas," Sam said, looking guilty. "We don't really care what you look like." He holds up a quick hand to stop Castiel from continuing. "I mean, it'd be great if you don't look like Dad--"

"--or Mom," Dean interjected.

Sam's mouth twisted, pained. "Just, not people that we know. You know why?" Sam moved closer to wrap one arm around Castiel, tugging him against his side. "Because we want you to look like Cas. Not anyone else, not some fantasy babe. You're Cas, and whenever I think of you, it's visual, yeah, but I also remember how intensely you stare at us, how you know when I get tired of reading and find the info for me, and how you never let Dean brood anymore." 

"That's all you, Cas," Dean murmured, kissing the top of his head again. "It doesn't matter what you look like, 'cause those things never change."

Castiel's smile was wide and bright, and Dean's heart jumped. "I wanna see you smile like that more," he whispered. "Maybe with less chick-flick moments, but I'll take what I can get." 

Sam nosed against Castiel's hair, and laughed quietly. "Thanks, Dean." 

"Yes," Castiel grinned. "Thank you both." 

\-- 

As the Impala thundered down the highway, towards the next hunt, Castiel tipped his head against the seat, and settled closer against Sam's sleeping body. Sam shifted slightly, as Castiel maneuvered Sam's head to pillow on top of his. "You don't mind me looking like Jimmy again?"

Dean stared at him through the rearview mirror. The road stretched out long and empty ahead of them, which afforded him the chance to return Castiel's familiar stare. 

He smiled at Castiel, before switching to a lazy leer. "You're definitely hotter, babe." At Castiel's exasperated look, Dean amended: "And you know me so well." 

Castiel hummed. "That's all right, Dean. I only love you for your body." 

Dean's laughter was loud and genuine, and Sam woke up to the sound of it and a lazy smile and kiss from Castiel.


End file.
